The Dark Age (40 page)

‘I could teach thee, if you like,' Brian suggested, drifting from language to language.

‘That would be wonderful.'

‘No, you say
awesome
,' Brian corrected him. ‘That would be
awesome
, get it?'

‘Awesome,' Maelgwn repeated with a smile.

Oh brother! Tory rolled her eyes. Please Goddess, don't let him turn into a twentieth-century yobbo.

Once they reached Aunt Rose's lovely thatched cottage, on a farm in Oxfordshire, Maelgwn and Tory received another rude shock.

‘Lady Gladys!' they both exclaimed, as she came running down the garden path to greet them.

‘Dear child! I knew it, what did I say?' she asked her brother as she reached Tory and hugged her niece fiercely.

‘Tory, this be thy Aunt Rose,' her father said, explaining that Rose fancied herself as a bit of a psychic.

‘Your father thinks such things are nonsense,' her aunt said, as if to imply that he was the one who was potty, not her. ‘I told him you would return but, of course, he wouldn't believe me. This must be your Otherworld companion, no doubt?' Rose turned to Maelgwn, who stole her heart as he took up her hand and kissed it.

‘Lady, Maelgwn of Gwynedd, at thy service.'

‘My husband,' Tory clarified.

‘Delighted,' Aunt Rose said coyly, though she'd barely understood a word Maelgwn said. ‘The spirits have had much to say about you two.' She led them towards the house, thumping her brother on the way past. ‘I told you she got married.'

Brian laughed as he pulled the bags out of the car. ‘Well, it would seem the women in our family aren't as looney as you thought, hey Dad?'

The professor was quite perplexed. ‘I must confess, a wee dram would be mighty friendly at this stage, Brian.'

Aunt Rose put on a delicious lunch of wondrous foods in Maelgwn's honour: pies, fresh bread and salads, followed by Devonshire tea.

Tory told them of her journey to the Dark Age, and Maelgwn expanded on the story here and there. She also produced the instant photographs she'd taken that confirmed elements of her adventure.

‘Hey, that's me!' Brian spotted Calin in several of the shots.

‘Indeed, Calin Brockwell, King of Powys and Duke of Penmon in Gwynedd. He is also Maelgwn's Champion and one of the bravest warriors I've ever met. He just got married.' Tory pointed out Katren to him.

‘Wow, what a babe.'

‘And look Renford, there's me.' Rose pointed to Lady Gladys in Tory's wedding photo. ‘My, I do look nice, don't I? And I must say, you look rather lovely yourself, my dear.' She winked at Tory.

With the aid of a magnifying glass, the professor carefully scrutinised the photo of the seat of Gwynedd at Aberffraw and the picture Tory had taken of the ruins at Llyn Cerrig Bach. ‘What are these blurry patches?' he asked.

Tory leant over his shoulder. ‘Oh, they're ghosts.'

‘Get outta town. Let me see,' Brian demanded.

‘Well Tory, I certainly have no explanation for all this,' her father confessed, pouring himself another drink.

‘Where's Mum?' As soon as she asked, Tory knew something was wrong when everyone's expression changed. ‘What? Has something happened to her?'

‘No.' Brian sounded as if he wished something had.

‘Your mother and I have separated, child. She's currently on tour in America somewhere.'

‘With her new composer boyfriend, who's half her age,' Brian added with spite.

‘Brian, please,' his father urged, as he was not making it any easier on his sister.

‘Well, she should know all of it,' Brian protested.

‘We are in the process of a divorce, Tory. I am sorry.'

Maelgwn placed a hand on Tory's shoulder and she patted it to assure him she was fine. ‘Don't be.' She kissed her father. ‘I know what Mother is like, and so I suppose it's probably for the best.' Tory came round her father's chair to take a seat on his lap. ‘Are you alright?'

‘Quite blissful, thank you. I much prefer living in Britain.'

This house in Oxfordshire belonged to his sister Rose who had no children of her own and her husband had died many years ago. So she was delighted to have her brother and Brian living there.

Tory and her father walked off lunch in the garden. She took the opportunity to ask him about the perfectly preserved ring of stones she'd seen this morning, as this was the first major change Tory had noticed in Britain since her arrival.

‘What do you mean?' Renford was puzzled. ‘We Britons have always taken pride in preserving our ancient sites.'

Tory found his response very confusing as this would mean that the land ownership in Britain had changed from the last time she was in the twentieth century. The ring of stones was in Oxfordshire which, according to history in the modern reality Tory had been born into, belonged to the Saxons who would in time become the English people.

Therefore, by Tory's reckoning, Wales must reach way beyond the borders of what had once been known as Prydyn.

‘The Saxon raiders that ravaged Britain during the Dark Ages never managed to gain supremacy over the allegiance set in place by the Dragon and his allies,' Renford explained to her.

If this was true, then most of Scotland, Ireland and Prydyn had never fallen into the hands of raiders, and much more of their native culture must have been preserved, Tory mused on the quiet. These lands had therefore maintained their own identity, separate governments and individual beliefs, as their people had never been forced by the English to give them up.

Tory was very pleased to learn this; Taliesin, as always, had been right in thinking the pact would serve the native Britons well. She could hardly wait to start delving into the history books to find out what else had changed. Tory guessed that the way history had unfolded in this reality explained the fine condition of the stones. The absence of war and the greater respect
for the native culture in Britain had managed to preserve them this time round.

 

Later that evening, while Tory and Brian were beating each other up in a sparring match in the garden, Tory's father showed Maelgwn his library, which had been carefully transported from Australia.

‘Well I can certainly see where this year will be best spent, Professor.' Maelgwn's attention was drawn to a parchment written in the ancient text that was lying on the desk. ‘This be about me.' He read the ancient tongue, understanding it perfectly.

‘Indeed. I have seen these words before, they be part of a dialogue claimed to have passed between Taliesin and Myrddin. Can thee tell me anything of the origin of this particular copy?' Renford asked.

Maelgwn held the tattered parchment in his hand to inspect it more closely. ‘It be Taliesin's penmanship. A poem of which I know not. Where did thee find this?'

‘An archaeologist working at a dig at Lynn Cerrig Bach found it and asked me to look into it for him. Art thou sure of its writer?' The professor restrained his
excitement as he awaited the reply. ‘It was Taliesin Pen Beirdd?'

‘Aye, I would know his script anywhere. I have certainly read enough of it.'

‘I knew it. I don't know how I knew it, but I knew it!'

Maelgwn was pleased to have made him so cheery, but he couldn't understand the professor's doubt. ‘But surely thee recognises Taliesin's hand, Myrddin?'

‘Why doth thou think me to be this old wizard, Maelgwn?' He had seen the photos of Calin and Lady Gladys, who were clearly recognisable as Brian and Rose. Was it any more unlikely then that he might have lived in another life and time? But as Myrddin, the High Merlin of the druids? Although this was very flattering, Renford thought it rather unlikely.

Maelgwn did his best to be tactful, seeing how ill at ease the comment had made the professor. ‘Why, thou art his very image, save quite a bit of hair and thy attire. But as well as this, I have been considering Taliesin's story of thy origins and what became of thee, and it seems to make sense that I should find thee here.'

Renford took a seat, waving for Maelgwn to do the same. ‘Please, tell me the story of Myrddin's origins.'

‘Surely as a historian thou art aware of the story of Myrddin?'

‘Believe me, Maelgwn, I have read many theories, so varied and outrageous that I would dearly love to hear thy version of it.'

Maelgwn drank the shot of liquor, and gasped for air. ‘Whoa, good mead.'

‘Whisky, mother's milk.' Renford grinned, pouring him another as he awaited the tale.

Maelgwn accepted the refill, deciding to take this one a little slower, and leant back in the comfortable armchair. ‘According to Taliesin, Myrddin was begotten by an incubus. His mother was of the Middle Kingdoms, but his father was of the Otherworld. He was bequeathed by the sorcerers of Vortigern, the archtraitor and one-time overlord of Britain, to appease the spirits. The leader had fled his allies, the Saxons, and while Vortigern attempted to build a fortress to keep them and the might and anger of Britain at bay, all his building materials kept vanishing. Vortigern's wizards told him he must find a fatherless boy whom they could slay and sprinkle his blood on the foundations at the site. After an extensive search, Myrddin was brought forth to be sacrificed, having no earthly father at least. Although only a boy, Myrddin outwitted them all. He explained the real reason for the disappearances was due to a subterranean pool on the building site that housed two dragons.'

‘“Dragons” meaning?' Renford queried, quite sure there was no such thing as a dragon.

Maelgwn recalled Tory mentioning that very few beasts of this type still existed in this time, so he explained. ‘Big, burly, fire-breathing, and quite often airborne creatures of the Otherworld.'

‘I see.' Renford quickly poured another shot. ‘Do go on.'

‘Vortigern had the pool drained, and as predicted two dragons emerged. One was white, and Myrddin told
the leader that it represented the Saxons and Vortigern himself. The other dragon was red and personified our ancestors, the Britons, led by Aurelius Ambrosius and my grandfather. The dragons did battle and despite the white dragon seeming at first the more powerful, the red dragon recovered and drove the other one back. Thus Myrddin foretold the downfall of Vortigern and the Saxons, and the coming to power of Ambrosius and the native Britons. The boy was imprisoned by Vortigern for his prophecy, but was rescued by Ambrosius when he conquered Vortigern as predicted. Myrddin then remained in the service of Ambrosius for many years.'

‘So what became of him after that? Some say he was trapped by an enchantress in a tree, others claim he went mad.' Renford quoted from the depths of his memory:

Maelgwn sat forward in his chair, wide-eyed at the professor's words, feeling this confirmed his suspicions even more. ‘This could be applied to what Taliesin claims became of thee. For Taliesin was sent, by the Goddess, back to the Old Land, to learn the secrets of the ages from the Old Ones.'

‘Do you mean Atlantis?' Renford asked.

‘Aye, Tory hast referred to it thus,' Maelgwn recalled. ‘After he'd studied the old ways, Taliesin returned to Britain, twenty years before I was even born. He sought out Myrddin and found him trapped in a tree, only not by a beautiful enchantress but by an evil sorceress named Mahaud. She had disguised herself as an alluring wood nymph to fool the Merlin into teaching her his craft, which he did. Mahaud then used this knowledge to imprison him. After breaking the enchantment, Taliesin instructed Myrddin in the greater mysteries for a time and together they devised a scheme to save Britain.'

‘Did he tell thee what they planned?' The professor was becoming very interested now as something deep inside him seemed to stir, sending cold shivers down his spine.

Maelgwn chuckled. ‘The thing about Taliesin be that he never tells anyone anything, outright. He said they went opposite ways through time and that when he and Myrddin were reunited, the Chosen Ones would rise and Britain would be redeemed.' Maelgwn reached over and took up the parchment he'd read earlier. ‘'Twas this that got me thinking though, for I know Taliesin's writings art housed where no amount of digging would uncover them. Thus, I do not think thou hast acquired this by accident.'

‘I was beginning to think the same thing myself.' Renford had turned white.

‘If Taliesin stayed in my time to tutor my mother and then myself, does it not make sense, therefore, that Myrddin came forward to tutor and guide Tory?'

‘Aye, perhaps.'

‘Then thy poem of Myrddin's plight makes some sense. If one considers that the “wood” spoken of refers to life itself, and if Taliesin knew that thou had lost all memory of thy origins, thy kindred, and thy pact with him, then perhaps he sent this remnant of thy conversation to jog thy memory.'

‘And thy good self also, let us not forget.' Renford had reserved judgement on whether or not this man was who he claimed to be. He was either a brilliant impostor, or the genuine article; very few people spoke Brythanic with such ease.